


The Road to Bitterness

by DataAngel (TheNinth)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2265432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNinth/pseuds/DataAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he started school, Meredith Rodney McKay was the youngest and the smallest in his class. Just barely four years old, the school had been hesitant to let him in until it was apparent that his reading level was equal to that of most six year olds, his math skills were at least twice that, and his speech and social skills were already lacking.</p>
<p>“Lacking?” His father said. “He's four. What has he got to talk about with anyone?”</p>
<p>“Mister McKay,” the counselor began.</p>
<p>“Doctor,” he corrected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he started school, Meredith Rodney McKay was the youngest and the smallest in his class. Just barely four years old, the school had been hesitant to let him in until it was apparent that his reading level was equal to that of most six year olds, his math skills were at least twice that, and his speech and social skills were already lacking.  
  
“Lacking?” His father said. “He's four. What has he got to talk about with anyone?”  
  
“Mister McKay,” the counselor began.  
  
“Doctor,” he corrected.  
  
“Forgive me, Doctor McKay. Your son is extraordinarily smart. If he doesn't learn to work with his peers now, he'll have much more trouble when he gets older.”  
  
McKay scowled. His wife reached over and squeezed his hand. She knew by the look on his face that he was thinking “As if those children could be his _peers_.”  
  
The counselor continued undaunted. “I believe the father of one of our boys is a coworker of yours, Doctor. Are you familiar with Doctor Hiroshi Ishiguro? His son Sean will be starting this year.”  
  
Grudgingly, Doctor McKay relented. Mer was enrolled.  
  


* * *

  
  
The first day of school, Mer's mother dropped him off at the door.   
  
He refused to let her walk him in. “I can do this,” he said testily and waved her hands away when she tried to fuss with his sweater. “It's just school.”  
  
Tears welled up in her eyes as she waved goodbye.   
  
When he reached the classroom, he was surprised to find so many children standing around, laughing, talking, and comparing what was in their lunch boxes. Mer had an apple, three graham crackers, a small roll, and some ham. He also had a note for the teacher that detailed his allergies. Written in large letters at the bottom of the note was the warning “Do not let him trade lunches with anyone!”  
  
Mer took out the note and read the disclaimer again. The other kids were actively trading and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. School was off to a great start.  
  
A boy leaned over his shoulder. “Why can't you trade lunches?”  
  
Mer was impressed. Sure, the writing was big and the words weren't complicated, but he doubted most of the kids in the room could have read it. Mer turned and looked at the boy.  
  
The boy was a little taller and a little older than Mer. His hair was thick, straight, and very black. His eyes were nearly black as well. He had a crooked grin and a gap where one front tooth should have been. His tongue kept flicking into the empty space.  
  
“Allergies,” Mer said, taken aback that someone was talking to him.  
  
The boy nodded gravely and slid his hands into his pockets. “I don't know what that is,” he said, and then shrugged one shoulder. His grin never faltered.  
  
“Means I can't eat things because they'll kill me.”  
  
The boy's eyes grew wide and his grin even wider. “Cool.” He drew the word out. Cooooool. “Can I see?”  
  
Mer's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “No!”  
  
“I was joking. What's your name?”  
  
“Mer.”  
  
“Murr,” the boy repeated. “Cool. I'm Sean. My dad's a doctor.”  
  
“Mine too!”  
  
Mer was just about to ask Sean if they could be best friends when the teacher asked that they all find seats on the mats in the middle of the room. Mer smiled shyly when Sean pulled his mat next to Mer's.  
  
The teacher called roll. When she said “Meredith McKay” Mer dutifully raised his hand. He was just about to say “I like to be called Mer” when a little girl in the room started giggling. Soon a whole group of them were giggling and pointing.  
  
“That's a girl's name!” One of them shouted, and with that the whole room erupted in laughter and chants of “Meredith's a girl's name.”  
  
“Settle!” the teacher said. “Children, please. Calm down. You're being very loud and it's not nice to hurt someone's feelings!”  
  
One boy noticed that Mer was starting to tear up. “Hey, the girl is crying!” he said, and the second round of taunting began.  
  
“Stop!” Sean stood up and stamped his foot. “He's not a girl. He's a boy and his name is Mer and he's my best friend.”  
  
Mer felt so proud at that moment. He thought he was invincible.   
  
At nap time they fell asleep facing each other, whispering about cartoons, despite the teacher threatening to separate them.  
  


* * *

  
  
On weekends, Mrs Ishiguro would bring Sean over and she and Mer's mother would drink coffee and talk. Mer was more than a little in love with Mrs Ishiguro. She was tall, slender, and athletic (although at four years old he didn't know to think of her in those terms). She had short blond hair and freckles across her nose and an accent that made him giggle. It was musical and lilting and he thought everything she said sounded beautiful.  
  
“She's Irish,” his mother explained one night as she tucked him in. “She was born in Ireland and still has the accent even though she's lived here for years and years.”  
  
“I'm going to marry her,” he said confidently.  
  
“You can marry anyone you want, honey.” She kissed his cheek and turned off the light.  
  
“Uh, momma?”  
  
“Sorry.” She turned on the nightlight as she left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Mer was eight when she was born. She cried all the time and took away his parents' attention. It was obvious (to Mer at least) that she was the one his father preferred. He spoke softly to the baby, cooing and cradling her and spending hours walking around with her, explaining things. When he spoke to Mer, it was usually dismissive, pointing out mistakes he'd made in his homework, or to tell him to be quiet and speak only when spoken to.

"She makes noise all the time," Mer protested, earning himself a week in his room.

His mother brought him dinner that night (overcooked, tasteless vegetables and boiled ham), but she didn't apologize for his dad.

 

* * *

 

He could hear them arguing through the wall between his bedroom and theirs.

"Meredith is a fine name for a boy," his father shouted. "It's a traditional McKay family name!"

"But that's back home. Here he's going to school with boys named Sean and William and Dave and Gordon, and I just think when we register him for school next year we should ask that they call him Rodney. That's also a traditional McKay family name."

"You coddle him too much. That's why he's sick all the time. That's why he has allergies. Meredith is a man's name and he just needs to learn to carry it like a man."

"He's not a man. He's a little boy! He's eight years old and you treat him like he's forty. Do you know Sean is the only one in his class who'll play with him? His classmates think he's weird."

"He's not 'weird'. He's smart. And he'd better start acting like it. What sort of man gets pushed to the ground because someone doesn't like his name."

The creak of his parents mattress made Mer jump. He pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes, hoping that if he looked like he was sleeping his father wouldn't yell at him. Dad's footsteps passed his door and then he heard the click of her door and dad singing softly to her.

* * *

 

Mer had been taking piano lessons since he was six years old. It was partly an effort to get him out of his father's way, but mostly because Mer enjoyed it.

He had taken to it immediately, even when his legs were too short to reach the pedals. Dad was serious about things like lessons and homework and would sit in the room with Mer and listen to him practice over and over again, even though he said things like "the noise gave him a headache" and "a cat could jump on the keys and produce something better" (later it became "the baby" instead of "a cat," which only pushed Mer harder).

"I expect you to go to your lesson knowing that piece by heart," his father said. He took the music away, folded his arms, and glared. Mer produced it, note for note. One time he added a little touch - just a small flourish that made him smile - and was rewarded with a smack on the hand.

"That is not how it goes. Music is like mathematics. It is structured. It is orderly. It is precise.

"Listen," Doctor McKay said, and turned on a tape recorder. Chopin. Mer listened, hands hovering over but not touching the piano keys. Doctor McKay turned off the recording; Mer played it back, precisely and mechanically.

By the time Mer was ten everyone outside his home was calling him Rodney, and Doctor McKay no longer hounded him about his music lessons. He preferred to spend his time with her. Rodney's mother was usually busy or napping because she was tired from being so busy. Rodney would close the door to the room and just sit at the piano, playing everything he knew by heart (which, after four years, was quite a lot). He felt guilty each time he tried to improvise something, but did it anyhow, reveling in the structure of the music and understanding how each note led to the next.

At age twelve his teacher (gently) told his parents that while he was mechanically perfect and absolutely flawless he didn't have the right emotional attachment to go further. "He knows it," she said, "and he understands it, but he doesn't feel it."

Doctor McKay told Rodney it was a stupid pursuit, anyhow.


End file.
